


Are We So Broken?

by Blink_Blue



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Fights, Hate Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Oliver really needs to learn the truth, Smut, Unresolved Issues, alternate timeline where Connor found out about Stanford over the summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: Some truths have to come out eventually.





	

_“Where the hell have you been??!”_

Connor had braced himself for a hefty argument before he walked through the door, but still he winces from the sound of the other man’s voice. His stubbornness refuses to let him back down, so he swallows the lump in his throat and shrugs his shoulders. “I was out,” he says curtly.

Oliver scoffs, throwing his hands up as he stares at the other man in disbelief. “Out?” He asks, incredulous. “You were _out?_ Would you care to elaborate, Connor?”

“Yeah _Oliver,_ I was _out._ I didn’t realize I needed your permission for that,” Connor mutters as he pushes past the other man to the living room, where he throws his bag and jacket on the couch–something he knows Oliver hates.

Oliver’s patience with his boyfriend has worn thin. The summer was a tough one. And these past few days as the semester started had been one endless argument after the next. Now _this…_ the other man coming home damn near half past ten after _hours_ without contact, _this_ is the last straw. “Connor, where the hell have you been?” He asks in a low voice.

Connor whips around to face him. “I was out with Asher.” A god awful feeling of smug satisfaction floods him when he sees the anger in Oliver’s eyes.

“And what were you doing with him?” Oliver asks, his voice cold as steel.

“Well, you know, after a long day of classes, followed by an evening of work for a woman I despise, I just wanted to blow off some steam–”

“You mean by getting trashed at a bar,” Oliver finishes for him.

Connor stares at him, his eyes cold and unblinking. “And what if it does?”

“You drank.” Oliver says slowly, and it’s not a question.

“Yes, Oliver. I had a few drinks. What about it–”

“I called you half a dozen times,” Oliver says in a low voice, clearly trying to contain his anger. “I left three messages, why didn’t you answer me?”

“Because I’m a fucking asshole!” Connor spits. “Okay? Because I HATE everything right now–I hate this school, I hate working for Annalise, I hate YOU working for Annalise, and I hate that I’m still here–”

“I knew you weren’t over it,” Oliver says softly as he drops his eyes. He shakes his head sadly. “Connor–”

“Forget it,” Connor sighs, putting a hand up, not wanting to hear the other man’s apologies for the hundredth time. “Just forget it. I’m stressed from school and work and–I’m just being an asshole. I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I should have called.”

“What’s happening with us?” Oliver asks softly. He continues when Connor doesn’t respond. “It’s like… everyday you’re just itching for a fight…”

“I’m not,” Connor says defensively.

“You are!” Oliver insists, and it just proves his point. “And I know it’s because–”

Connor cuts him off. With a few quick steps, he pulls Oliver close with his hands on the other man’s face, kissing him hard and deep. And then just as quickly, he pulls away again. He steps back, and watches silently as Oliver is too shocked to speak.

After a moment, Connor turns away, rubbing his hands over his eyes tiredly. He doesn’t want to argue. It seems all they do now is argue and get no where with it because neither of them say the things that really need to be said.

“Connor,” Oliver whispers, just a hint of fear in his voice. “Did you hook up with anyone?”

Connor feels like he took a hit to the gut. “What?” He asks in disbelief.

Oliver swallows, looking uncomfortable and uncertain. “You’re mad at me,” he finally says softly. “I know you are. You say you’re not, but you’re still mad about Stanford… It’s not crazy to think you might try to get back at me…”

Connor shakes his head in shock. He lets out a soft breath and takes another step back. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he murmurs.

“Just answer me–”

“No!” Connor yells as his emotions finally boil to the surface. “No, of course I didn’t fucking hook up with anyone!”

Oliver wants to feel relief–he thinks that he should. But his shoulders remain tense and he struggles to take a calm breath. Maybe’s Connor’s anger is rubbing off on him. Maybe after a whole summer of walking on eggshells, even he has reached the end of his rope. “Like you’d tell me if you were,” he mutters under his breath.

Connor’s voice gets hard. “You don’t believe me?”

“You’re the one keeping secrets, Connor.”

Connor scoffs and lets out a laugh that sounds damn near hysterical. “Wow. You fucking asshole,” he curses at the other man. “My hands are fucking tied and you throw this in my face?”

“What am I supposed to think?” Oliver throws back. “You never tell me anything! I–I know I screwed up with the Stanford thing, but… we never really talked about it. And you want to act like everything’s fine when we both know that it’s not!”

Connor’s hands shake–he can’t think of a single thing to say, because… because Oliver is right–he crosses his arms angrily and looks down.

“Now that classes started again, you’re hardly ever home.” Oliver continues when the other man doesn’t answer. “I’m not an idiot, I know it’s because you want me away from those people you work with. How do you think that makes me feel, Connor?” Oliver swallows the lump in his throat and balls his hands into fists. The familiar fear of not being enough rears its ugly head, this time it manifests itself in anger.

“It takes you forever to answer your texts, half the time I have no idea where you are or where you go–I’m fucking terrified that you bumped into some hot guy and decided to have a romp in a bathroom somewhere–”

“Just stop, okay?” Connor shakes his head. “I can’t–I can’t fucking listen to this anymore.”

“It already happened once, Connor! How am I supposed to know–”

Connor moves fast. Oliver blinks for a split second, and the other man is on him. He grabs Oliver by the front of his shirt, pulls him close, and kisses him harshly on the mouth. It’s rough and biting–Oliver feels the sharp sting of teeth against his bottom lip. Connor presses their bodies close–maybe with a little too much force, because Oliver stumbles back a step.

“Connor–” He gasps.

“Shut up,” Connor says harshly. “I haven’t fucked anyone else,” he says in between hard kisses. “I haven’t fucked anyone but you. No one’s touched me but you, okay? No one’s _fucked_ me but you.”

Oliver can’t help but moan when Connor grinds their hips together–not an inch of space between them–forcing him against the back of the couch.

“You want to be the jealous asshole when this is really about something else entirely, you go ahead!” Connor says, his face twisting angrily. “But you better fucking deliver.”

“Wh-what?” Oliver has a hard time concentrating on words when Connor’s actively pulling at his belt.

“Go on,” Connor moans and writhes against him. “You think I’m such a slut, why don’t you check for some evidence, go ahead.” He pulls back a mere second to pull his shirt over his head, then returns to attach his lips to Oliver’s neck, earning a ragged gasp from the other man. “You see any marks or bruises on me?” Connor breathes into his ear. “Or maybe you want to make them yourself?

Oliver’s palms are warm and unsteady against the other man’s skin. This is a bad idea. He knows exactly what Connor’s doing. It’s what he–they do best. Ignore the situation with amazing, _mind blowing_ sex. His eyes glance down the other man’s body. Connor is gorgeous and perfect and not a single mark on him. Like a blank canvas just begging to be painted on. And _fuck,_ Connor’s already undoing his pants.

“Connor,” Oliver whispers, all the things unsaid hang heavy in the air.

“Shut up,” Connor murmurs, dropping his pants. “I don’t want to hear you speak.”

Oliver presses his nose against Connor’s cheek, grits his teeth and stifles a moan as Connor’s hand finds its ways into his pants. He pants heavily as Connor strokes his cock to life. His fingernails scrape angry red marks over the other man’s skin in response. His shirt is pulled over his head and discarded on the floor, and the rest of his clothes quickly follow.

There’s a moment when they both pause and stare into each other’s eyes, gasping for breath.

Then the moment’s over and Connor resumes motion. He manhandles him around and pulls them both over the back of the couch, landing on the soft cushions. Oliver gasps when he lands on top of the of the other man. As their lips find each other again, his hand blindly reaches for the small drawer in the coffee table where they keep lube–Connor insists on hiding it all over the apartment, for when opportunity strikes.

“You gonna fuck me?” Connor gasps between kisses. “Gonna make me feel it?”

“Connor–”

“Come on,” Connor gasps, as Oliver’s teeth sink into his neck. “There’s no one but you, Ollie. You better make damn sure I know it.”

Oliver groans and hisses through his teeth. Connor drives him fucking mad and the way he moans, open mouthed and gasping, grinding up against him isn’t helping one bit. “Fuck, Connor–”

He nearly empties the small bottle into his palm in his haste. He quickly fists his cock, hot and heavy, biting his lip to contain his moans as he looks down at the impatient man writhing beneath him.

He’s only just smearing the remnants of lube from his slippery fingers over the other man’s hole–he barely gets a finger in when Connor gasps, arching his back. “Jesus christ, Connor.” He murmurs under his breath.  

Connor pushes him away. “Enough,” he says, quickly turning over onto his stomach. He drops his head and pushes his hips back. A shiver runs down his spine as he feels Oliver’s warm hand on his flesh–first down his side, then he grips his hip tight enough to bruise, and finally palms his ass with the hand that isn’t pulling at his hair, getting it messy with lube.

“Come on,” Connor moans and hisses, “get on with it already.”

“Beg me,” Oliver murmurs behind him.

“ _What?!_ ”

“Beg me.”

“You son of a bitch,” Connor whines, burying his face in the arm of the couch. He feels Oliver pressing his body against him, warm and heavy. He feels Oliver’s hard cock against his ass. He feels Oliver’s teeth sink into his neck, sucking on his flesh, hard enough to hurt but at the same time it feel so _damn_ good. “Come on, Oliver _please…_ ”

“Please what?”

“ _Fuck me! Oh my god, just fuck me,_ ” Connor pants heavily. He throws an arm back, grasping at the other man in a desperate attempt to bring him closer. “You son of a bitch, just get your cock in me, please–”

He’s left choking on air when Oliver sinks into him in one fluid motion.

“ _Fuck–ahh–shit–”_

Connor’s hands grip the arm rest so tightly his knuckles have turned white. He thinks he might taste blood from biting his lip so hard, because _fuck_ it does hurt–maybe he should have let Oliver prepare him more. And he hears the other man panting heavily behind him, clearly struggling to keep still, letting him adjust.

Stubbornly, he presses his hips back, moaning loudly through the pain and pleasure. “Move–move now!”

Oliver doesn’t need to be told twice. He can’t think of anything but the heat that he’s buried in. He thrusts his hips, just a bit at first–one hand on Connor’s hip, steadying him, the other holding himself up. He listens to Connor moaning raggedly below him. He thinks about how delicious the skin looks right where his neck meets his shoulder, and he just can’t help himself–he sinks his teeth into it–earning a yelp from the other man.

“Oliver!” Connor gasps, drawing another heavy, broken breath. “Oh my god, Oliver–fuck–”

“Does anyone else fuck you like this?” Oliver murmurs, his face buried in the other man’s hair. 

“No, god no–no one fucking fucks me like you do–no one makes me scream like you do– _Ollie–”_ Connor cries out again when Oliver tugs on his hair, timed with a particularly hard thrust–“ _Oh god!_ ”

Connor’s breath hitches. Oliver’s arm snakes under his abdomen, pulling him close, angling their hips just right, thrusts his hips _just right–_ enough to have him seeing stars. “There’s no one but you, Ollie.” He says between ragged gasps. “I swear–”

“I know,” Oliver whispers into his ear. “I believe you. I–I’m sorry. S-sorry I was a jealous asshole–” He breaks off when a good thrust leaves them both shaking against each other. “I just don’t want to lose you, Connor.”

Connor forces his eyes shut at the confession. A hard thrust has them both trembling, like it’s Oliver’s wordless way of asking for a response. 

“You’re right,” Connor says shakily. “I am mad. You _son of a bitch_ , I am mad. I’m mad at you, I’m mad at me, I’m–” He breaks off with a ragged gasp when Oliver suddenly pulls out, leaving him feeling cold and empty. Only to grab him by the hips, roughly flip him over, lift his thighs up, and _sink back in._

Oliver reaches between them, grabs his cock and _squeezes._

Connor cries out, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“What gave you the right to decide I couldn’t go to Stanford?” Connor hisses at him. “That I couldn’t _leave_ when I hate everything about this place?” He moans heavily as Oliver continues thrusting slow and steady into his body. His focus flies between the feeling of Oliver inside him, Oliver’s hand on his cock, and the words spilling out of his mouth.

“Because everything is always my fucking fault, right?” Connor continues, his hands tightly grip Oliver’s back, holding on for dear life–his nails probably scratching a mess out of it. “I _cheated_ on you, I _hurt_ you, I _lied_ to you, I’m keeping secrets from you–I _hate_ myself for it–”

Oliver growls suddenly, he pulls at the other man’s arms, grabs both of Connor’s wrists, and presses them harshly to the arm rest behind him. 

“I don’t know how to fix us,” Connor whispers weakly. Oliver’s hands tighten around his wrists–if possible. He’ll be left with bruises tomorrow, marks on his neck, a limp in his step. But his heart thunders in his chest as Oliver continues fucking him, and _damnit_ he wants _more._

Oliver groans as he focuses on the slow drag of his cock in and out of Connor’s body. “Do you really think we’re so broken?” He murmurs softly. He releases Connor’s wrist from one hand, and makes deep scratches with blunt nails down his torso that probably match the ones Connor made on his back. “Answer me.”

“ _Yes.”_

There’s an awful ringing in his ears from that one, single word. A small, little sound from Connor’s throat lets him know that he’s close. And Oliver crushes their lips together, because he knows that they’re fucked. If they continue like this, they’re going to crash and burn worse than the first time. So he kisses him deeply, with teeth and tongue and everything that he has, still fucking him fast and hard, because at this moment all he can do is make him come again and again, and then maybe, maybe somehow they can fix this–

Connor sobs into his mouth, shaking and trembling as Oliver strokes his cock to the rhythm–and he starts cumming. Warm, thick streams shoot out between them. “ _Oh god, Ollie–”_

Connor jerks and gasps beneath him, struggling to draw a breath. His head falls back, baring his neck, and Oliver stares down at the long column of his throat. He runs his tongue heavily against it as Connor trembles. He’s clearly feeling way too sensitive as Oliver continues to fuck him. But Oliver’s so close, so _close,_ so _fucking close–_ and he finally spills into Connor’s body. He cries out the other man’s name softly as he cums. And Connor wraps his arms around him tightly, holding him through wave after wave of his orgasm. 

Oliver collapses, worn out physically, completely drained mentally. He slowly opens his eyes when his head stops spinning. Connor’s eyes are half lidded as he stares blankly at the ceiling. 

“Connor,” Oliver says softly. He’s still inside him, slowly getting softer. But he doesn’t want to move–not yet. He shivers suddenly, feeling his sweaty skin cool in the air. “We need to talk, don’t we?”

Slowly, Connor nods.

Oliver licks his lips. He’s hesitant. Scared. Terrified even. “Okay,” he whispers. And he moves to get off the other man–to pull out of him–

“No,” Connor says, holding him still by the arms, keeping him on top of him. “Not yet,” he murmurs. 

Oliver swallows. “Okay,” he says again. “Okay.” He settles back down, and buries his face in Connor’s neck. He presses a gentle kiss there, and closes his eyes. Just… being in the moment. 

Whenever Connor’s ready.

He has no idea what’s coming next. 

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://winters-blue-children.tumblr.com)


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